Zagreb, Easter. I’m seven. Mom comes home with two spray cans, gold and silver. For the eggs.
The eggs never saw them. For months I’d been staring at tags from the tram window, so I grabbed both cans, ran outside and tagged our building in gold.
I wanted to write my name. It came out as VEIRAN MAIDDEN. Seven years old, a whole wall, and I couldn’t spell my own name. It’s still there.
That wall taught me the rule I still work by: people read what you wrote, not what you meant.
So I kept drawing letters. Then logos. Then whole brands, until one day I put everything I had into it. 250+ brands later, the job is the same: your name, spelled right everywhere, even in what AI says about you.



